There’s a lot of truth in the idea that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone (or in this case, an ocean away).
England is like a new place and it’s hard to understand why no one else is giggling at all the details. My town looks so English. Our currency is beautiful. The weight of a pound coin in my hand, the accent, the familiar orange of a train ticket; I want to bundle all these up and never forget them.
I know where everything is here, I turn down streets and I know what I will find. There’s something immensely comforting in that.
And of course seeing the people I love again is best of all.
When I was asked what was most different about being home, it’s that the sky is free of towering buildings, and the people walk slowly. Supermarkets delight me, and pedestrians, and roads that are exactly the right size.
It wasn’t all sunshine and roses coming back; I had pretty horrible jetlag and I still wake up not knowing exactly where I am. But I’m very glad to be home.